


Water Tribe Furniture

by DespairStories



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: ASFR, BDSM, Bondage, Conscious Petrification, Conscious Transformation, Digital Art, Dildos, F/F, Femdom, Femsub, Forniphilia, Human Furniture, Non-Consensual, Object Insertion, Object Penetration, petrification, statue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27594608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DespairStories/pseuds/DespairStories
Summary: She let her guard down once, and that was all Azula needed.  Mad as ever and armed with a new tool from old allies, Azula decides that it's time to get some new furniture-- and it's going to be Katara.  Not something she bought, or something she owned.It's going to be Katara herself-- forever.
Relationships: Azula/Katara (Avatar)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 60





	Water Tribe Furniture

**Author's Note:**

> An companion story for a commission I got from many, many years ago, featuring Katara many years after the war. Having developed into a mature young woman, Katara found herself the target of an old adversary who wants revenge-- and has some new tools at her disposal.
> 
> See the image itself [here](https://www.deviantart.com/despairstories/art/Water-Tribe-Furniture-861380862).
> 
> Note that this scenario is a work of fiction, and should not be construed as anything but. Any and all real life scenes must be safe, sane, and consensual. Fictional depictions of BDSM are *not* good guides for how to play in your own life!

After years of relative peace, Katara had never expected to once again fear the woman who stood in front of her. Pity, revile, avoid, perhaps– but not fear. After all, she had been locked away for a long time, and she had _won_ their last encounter. And that had been with her own ability, without the aid of a full moon and against an opponent who was backed by the power of Sozin’s Comet.

But perhaps she should have known that Azula would find a way. Zuko had said it best– she always did. And so it was that she had been blindsided while traveling in a remote part of the Earth Kingdom. While she was a fierce and well-trained warrior, much time away from the battlefield had eroded at her sense of awareness. She had simply been slower, less cautious than she once had been.

And so, when the familiar earth-gloves of the Dai Li had struck against her eyes, her mouth, her wrists, she had been blinded and restrained without the slightest chance to respond. The girl swung her bound arms in front of her in an effort to draw water from somewhere– anywhere. But before her efforts could draw fruit, something was pressed over her nose, something with a cloying scent. A blackness even deeper than her blindness surrounded her, and then consumed her.

When she had woken up again, the first thing she saw was Azula. The girl had returned to her old style of dress, clad in familiar black-and-gold armor with red trappings. Even her hair was tied back in a familiar manner. But as put-together and composed as she looked, Katara saw the glint of madness remained in her eyes, having clearly never quite left her.

She tried to move, and for the first time began to take stock of her position. The initial sight of her longtime nemesis had been enough to hold her entire focus until that moment– enough to even keep her from noticing the bizarre predicament that she found herself in.

Bizarre– and horrible. The first thing she noticed, in spite of everything else, was the ridiculous outfit she was wearing. Behind the still-silent Azula was a floor-to-ceiling mirror, set against a tall beige wall of the chamber they were both in. In its surface, she could see herself, stripped of her usual blue garb and adorned in the reds of the old Fire Nation.

Adorned– but certainly not covered. She could hardly even describe what she was wearing; it was almost easier to describe what she wasn’t. It was not a dress, or a tunic, and it certainly was not modest. There was some kind of tight corset laced taut about her torso, flowing seamlessly into a tiny pleated skirt that barely covered her crotch. Long black stockings, accented by white ties and black garters hugged her legs from foot to upper thigh, leaving two narrow bands of skin uncovered.

Her comfortable, practical shoes had been replaced with some kind of strange high heels. And in the mirror, she could see a frilly headband atop her head, reminiscent of servant’s garb. A leather collar had been fit snug about her neck; apart from that, and two thin red straps, she was bare from the shoulders down, with a window into the corset to expose even her midriff.

Most infuriating and humiliating of all, though, was the fact that none of this fabric covered her ample breasts. Katara had filled out in the years since the war, and the result was now on display for all to see. Two round, pert breasts, crested by darker nipples that stood out against her smooth skin.

The outfit would have been appalling enough, but she was also amply restrained. Metal cuffs stood out about her ankles and wrists, holding her in an awkward, bent-forward position with her legs spread and her arms pulled out behind her. A chain fastened to her wrists disappeared out of sight above her, forcing her shoulders upwards and her chest outwards, completely immobilizing her arms and producing a burning ache throughout her body.

A second set of chains pulled her ankles in opposite directions, holding her legs spread wide apart, as though she were just starting one of the octopus waterbending forms she had devised. A final chain dangled loosely from her collar, falling to a large circular stone pedestal that she “stood” on.

And last of all, and worst of all, was the thing that was responsible for a fullness, a soreness, and a horrible immobility centered around her womanhood. A brass pole was set into the stone right between her legs, rising up, and up, vanishing into her skirt–

–and absolutely, completely, filling her to bursting. The horrible device, in tandem with the chains had held her in her awkward pose even while she was unconscious. Now that her muscles bore the load, the position was horribly uncomfortable, but at the very least she could slightly lessen its bite.

But she could do nothing about the intense humiliation and vulnerability she felt, stretched taut and utterly exposed. Seeing that she was now awake and aware of her predicament, Azula finally began to move, to speak.

“Ahh, the little Water Tribe girl. Not so little anymore, I see. You’ve certainly grown.” Her words were cold, only exaggerating the deep chill of the room. A chill that surely came from being buried somewhere deep underground, alone with the complete madwoman who was now sauntering towards her. Azula’s shoes clicked against the polished flagstones, her armor creaking ever-so-slightly as she deliberately, menacingly advanced.

“What, in the world, have you done!” Katara’s voice was angry, strained– and underlaid with a current of fear. Still, she did her best to hide that, punctuating each of her words with as much venom as she could muster. “Spirits, what is this? What are you doing to me? You’re gonna be sorry–”

“Are you really in any position to be making demands?” And there it was again, sounding the same as it had all those years ago. Azula’s casual, cruel, imperious voice, a tone that cut through Katara’s enraged protests with no more effort than it would take to cut grass with a sharpened blade. “After all, you seem to be a bit...indisposed.”

“Like you had nothing to do with this!” For the moment, rage was winning out over terror. “What, is this all your idea? I didn’t know you went for this kind of thing!” While Katara did not necessarily oppose the idea of liking women, it was far enough out of her Water Tribe sensibilities that she hurled the thought as an insult anyway.

She really should have known better. To Azula, insults were like the money– necessary to live, utterly ordinary, and easy to spend and receive without a moment’s thought. And naturally, as a Princess, and as the rightful Fire Lord, she gave these kinds of words even less thought than most.

“So what if it is?” Azula’s reply was completely unconcerned, and her eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly to emphasize her focus. Katara could not help but notice the slow, deliberate movements of her captor’s pupils, clearly traveling over every inch of her bound body and lingering in particular over several choice bits.

Katara flushed, the deep blush showing clearly even through her duskier complexion. Instinctively, she tried to move her arms to cover herself, tried to twist away in an effort to hide herself. She normally had no real insecurities about her body, and was comfortable enough being seen in her wrappings by friends and family– but this was completely different. Violating. Disempowering. Utterly humiliating.

The only thing her struggles accomplished was a rattling of chain, and the crude, vulgar swaying of her breasts. Azula raised a single eyebrow, appraising the movement with a calculating, and ever-so-slightly lustful gaze. The girl snapped her fingers, and a stone chest shot into the room, stopping precisely by Azula’s side. She reached into the container, and produced a length of fine, thin rope.

“You look quite impressive, for a backwater country girl. A bit uncouth, unrefined, but hardly unworkable.” Katara’s eyes were drawn to the rope, which had been coiled and snapped taut in Azula’s clearly-experienced hands. They still burned, but Azula could see the telltale, faint sparkle in the corner of her eyes that betrayed the movement of her captive’s emotions. “Let’s see if we can do anything to make you look a little more presentable. It’ll need enough work that I’ll have to dirty my hands myself. You should be...humbled.”

“In your dreams! Keep your filthy hands off of me, you freak!”

“Tut tut. Is that really the best you can come up with?” Azula took a few steps closer, letting the rope fall from one hand and mockingly contemplating her free hand. “I think I keep my hands rather clean, don’t you? Take a look, if you don’t believe me.”

She bent forwards, her palm, and then the back of her hand filling Katara’s field of view. And then, Katara winced as Azula delivered two light slaps against her cheeks, as one might do to a misbehaving brat. The momentary, stinging pain was lost in a renewed flare of fury, and Katara threw herself against her bonds.

It was an action she immediately regretted. A strangled yelp tore its way free from her throat as she was stopped by the chains about her limbs, and more pertinently, the shaft inside of her. It made its presence abundantly and utterly clear by the sudden pain and sensation that consumed her crotch, simultaneously fixing her hips completely in place. Katara’s chest heaved, her breath suddenly heavy and ragged. Overwhelmed by the rush of sensory input, words failed her.

“Really, I thought you were _smart._ Well, maybe not _smart,_ but certainly not this dumb. What, exactly did you think was going to happen when you tried that pitiful little stunt?” The rope was in both of Azula’s hands again, and while Katara tried to recover, the ropes were looped expertly about her chest with movements almost too precise and quick to follow.

Almost before she knew it, her torso was criss-crossed with an elaborate harness of rope. Of course, she was already completely immobilized by the existing restraints. This new set was purely for looks, with special attention focused on the binds that tightly wrapped around her breasts. The cord dug into her skin, forcing her bust to bulge and appear even more full and pert than usual.

“You...y-you freak! I always knew you were horrible and crazy, but it turns out you’re a pervert too!” Her tone was still defiant, but Azula’s trained ears easily picked out the breathy, brittle quality that undermined the intended effect. It was clear from Katara’s face that she knew that her weakness had not gone unnoticed; for just a second, her expression flickered and betrayed a mounting fear and uncertainty.

“A pervert? Maybe to your common sensibilities, but royalty is taught early that the common people owe us everything. Their lands, the fruits of their labors, and when we want them…” she paused meaningfully. “...their bodies. And rest assured, I do intend to collect.”

“Royalty? Don’t make me laugh. You’re not the Fire Lord. You’re not even a princess! And what rock did you crawl out from under, a-anyway? Weren’t you locked u-up?”

Azula gave a dismissive wave, her hands now empty and free to do whatever they wanted. “My story shouldn’t be of any concern to you, peasant. All you need to know is that I don’t intend to make any more mistakes when it comes to you.” The deranged girl gave a short, cackling laugh. “I’m going to get you out of my way. Permanently. And you’re going to serve me. Also permanently.”

“Like I’d everrrrrrmpppgh–!” Katara’s protest was abruptly cut off by _something_ being forced into her mouth. Her loud attempt at resistance had provided a literal, and ample opening for Azula’s deft fingers. Leather straps were suddenly being pulled taut and tight around her head, and something was biting into her cheeks with a cruel and unrelenting force. It was only when her captor took a deliberate step aside that Katara could see what had happened in the mirror.

There was a red sphere of some kind of polished stone now lodged firmly in her mouth, held in place behind her teeth by a set of straps that had been fastened together by some unseeable mechanism. It was something very different from the cloth gags she had encountered once or twice during her travels–and it was decidedly more effective.

“Wggh rghhh yuhhh duhhhhng? Whhht ssss thssss?!” The effect of the demand was rather less intimidating and convincing, muffled and garbled into a spluttering mess of gibberish. Flecks of spittle flew from around the sphere, and several even landed against Azula’s face. The other girl did not so much as flinch, although she did flick some of the droplets off with the back of one hand.

“There’s no need to be disgusting as well as inarticulate, you know. But I suppose that I’m just going to have to fix that myself, aren’t I?” Azula made another gesture over her shoulder, clearly signaling someone in the shoulders. Katara’s eyes widened, and she made a gargling sound as the stone sphere suddenly _expanded_. Caught behind her teeth as it was, the gag now forced her jaw wider than she thought at all possible.

“Nothing to say, girl? I’ve got you now filled from both ends.” So saying, she gave a malicious wink and smile. “I don’t know why you ever thought you’d have a _choice_ in the matter to serve me, you know? You’re going to do it, whether you like it or not.”

“...guuuuugh.” Katara’s reply was muffled and weak, almost inaudible through the massive gag. A stream of drool began to flow from the corners of her mouth, and another curtain of liquid covered the sphere with a sheen of spittle. Worse still, drool was now dripping down her face, following the curve of her chin. While most of the liquid beaded into drops and fell to the floor, some of it clung to her skin and began to trace a rivulet down her chest.

After just a few minutes, during which Azula simply stood with a cruel and quiet satisfaction, Katara’s breasts were practically covered with a layer of sticky, humiliating drool. Worse still, the liquid amplified the effects of the cold room, provoking an uncontrollable shiver that had a predictable effect on her bulging breasts.

“Now, then. You’re pesky and disgusting even when you’re bound up like that, and I’m sure you’ll try to find some way of resisting me. So, I’ve decided not to give you the option.” Azula clapped her hands twice, and a number of familiar, foreboding silhouettes appeared behind her, melting out of the shadows at the sides of the room. Katara’s blush deepened further, as the mirror made her acutely and horrifyingly aware of her appearance.

“It took a while to find some good help again, but the Dai Li have a _fascinating_ concept of loyalty. It didn’t take long for me to bend them to my will again, and I even picked up some new helpers along the way.” In spite of her demeaning words, none of the agents that now surrounded Katara seemed to mind, or even so much as twitch in reaction. Once again, Azula’s mastery of people was even more terrifying than her prodigious firebending skill.

“Now, I learned a fascinating bit of history from some of the agents I collected. Knowledge that wasn’t passed on to that so-called new king, not that he’d know what to do with it even if he knew.” A scroll was now in Azula’s hands, unraveling directly in front of Katara’s face. A sharp pull on the collar chain forced Katara to look directly at the old document, to see the timeworn– but still clear– illustration on its surface.

“...wggh ithhhh hssss? Hhh...hhh sthhhtuhhhh?” At first, she thought that the drawing had been rendered with plain and faded black ink, but splashes of color in the background made it clear that the central figure was made of some kind of stone. She stood in a submissive pose, her face drawn in exquisite detail to reveal an expression of terror. Katara felt another chill run through her, this one having nothing to do with her surroundings.

“Sometimes, you want to make a point with a captive, but without risking someone trying to rescue them. Many years ago, some earthbender must have been inspired to develop this fascinating technique. And some of the most senior, most secretive Dai Li held whispers of the result.” Another cruel smile. “So of course, I had to find out how it worked.”

The agents produced bowls filled with a thick, turgid gray liquid. The sight of it struck fear into Katara’s heart, and she helplessly tried to shake her head from side to side, to mumble out some kind of plea. The fire was gone from her body, the fight clearly going out of her spirit. But the gag held as firmly as it had the moment it had been enhanced, and Azula’s grip on the chain and collar squashed her struggle.

Azula nodded. The agents advanced. Using brushes of fine fur, they began to apply their mixtures all over Katara’s body, careful to leave her humiliating outfit completely clear. Katara could do nothing besides shudder, feeling the brushes trace over sensitive nipples, breast, her lower-lips. The fine bristles left not an inch of her uncovered, forcing the cold substance into every nook and cranny of her body.

Her eyes were left exposed. The coating around her did not drip or run, and she could not shake it free with the range of movement she had left to her. Unable to speak, unable to move, all Katara could do was plead with her eyes, which were suddenly filled with tears that spilled thickly over the coating that now clung to her like a second skin. Where she had been covered in her own drool, she could feel a maddening stickiness even beneath the horrible, clay-like surface.

“Now, I’ve been told that you’ll stay quite awake, and quite aware. It’s really quite fascinating; I’ll leave it to your imagination as to whether or not it can be reversed. Rest assured, though,” Azula paused, again giving Katara a meaningful look. “...if the answer yes, I’ll be taking you out to _play_ from time to time. After all, as much as that pose suits you, I might need something other than a table in the future.”

“...mmmghph…”

“So much for last words. Go on, begin.” Azula stepped back, as did the Dai Li. As a single unit, the earthbenders held out their hands, and began to make a squeezing, pushing motion.

Katara’s eyes flew wide open, the only movement left to her. The thick, clay-like mixture was pushing in on her from all directions. At first, it felt like she was being crushed, buried alive like she had been once beneath the packed dirt of an Earth Kingdom outpost. But as the seconds passed, the feeling changed into something far more disturbing. The cold touch of the air, which had briefly disappeared when she was painted over, was now beginning to return.

Her skin seemed to crawl, the nerves tingling with a deeply unsettling sensation of something horribly unnatural, something horribly wrong. She could feel something sinking into her skin, being absorbed– no, _pushed_ into her body. The clay was forcing its way _into_ her, _becoming_ her. The tightness, the helplessness, the immobility that was beginning to take ahold of her was completely different from how her bindings felt.

Before, she had been able to _try_ to move. Something _outside_ of her had stopped her.

Now, her frantic commands from her mind were fizzling out unacknowledged. She could not even _try_ to move; it felt like her muscles were tensing, but she could not feel her actual fingers, limbs, even her chest actually moving at all.

It was now _inside_ of her, whatever was slowly turning her into the same stone that had imprisoned the woman on the scroll. Her eyes were helplessly, irresistibly drawn back to the mirror. Katara could only watch, her throat now also frozen in place, as her skin took on the dull shine of polished stone. Her body was changing against her will, for whatever that was worth. The layer of liquid was vanishing, sinking into her body as she petrified.

And then, it was suddenly over her eyes. For a second, she was completely, terrifyingly blind. The feeling was indescribable, worse than she had felt even while outside on the driest, hottest, sandiest days in the Earth Kingdom’s deserts. After what felt like an eternity, though, her vision returned to her, as did her other senses.

But everything was different, now. Duller. Hollower. Further away. She could hear Azula talking, but somehow she knew that she was only aware of her most immediate surroundings. She could see Azula, see the horrible, self-satisfied smirk– but everything beyond the girl faded to an impenetrable black. She could _feel_ the possessive, violating tough of Azula’s hands as they ran over her breasts, pushed at her now-eternally full womanhood, caressed her cheeks. Even a pinch to the nipples provoked just as visceral and painful a reaction as if they had still been made of flesh.

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it? I’m glad you’re aware in there. Let’s make sure you see what you look like. The way you belong, in your rightful place.” Katara could feel herself moving, felt the pressure of earthbending on her body. It made sense, of course– she was now made from solid rock. Living stone, somehow, but earth nonetheless.

Out of the darkness loomed the mirror. If she had been able to blink, to scream, to cry, to sob, she would have done all of those things.

But the Katara she saw in the mirror was the same Katara that she now _felt._ She was trapped in the same, humiliating pose, her legs spread, her arms behind her, her breasts on full display– now permanently pert and _full_ as a result of the embrace of the ropes and corset, to say nothing of her pose. She tried to throw herself to one side, to stand up, to move her arms, but the reflection confirmed what she already knew.

She could not move.

She could not speak.

She was now nothing more than an ornament, the gray of her body making the red, black, and white of her embarrassing, salacious attire stand out all the more. Her face betrayed an undignified, consuming terror. Even her wide eyes and pupils had been preserved in exacting detail. Her beautiful features were distorted by the enormous red ball that still filled her mouth, not that she could have made a sound even if it were removed.

“Now, we’ll add some final touches, but I think I’m just going to leave the gag and ropes on you. I do love how it looks– really catches the eye.” Azula smirked. Katara wanted to wail. “What do you think, peasant? Perhaps I should add ‘artist’ to my list of skills.”

The girl paused. The air was silent. Of course it was. It was not as though Katara could answer. All she could do was think, her thoughts racing maddeningly in her head.

“Oh well. It’s not like your answer would have been worth anything anyway. What would a Water Tribe girl know of art?”

In the mirror, Katara could see a Dai Li agent emerge from the murk behind her, carrying a large circular tray of polished silver. This he set upon her arms, now locked eternally behind her in a perfect position to serve as a platform base. To her horror, Katara finally understood the meaning of Azula’s earlier reference to _furniture._

Before she knew it, a bowl of cherries appeared on the tray. Her shoulders and arms ached under the additional weight, but of course Katara did not so much as tremble. Or protest. The bowl was perfectly still, even as Azula began to walk in slow circles around her, taking one cherry at a time and chewing it. Naturally, the pits had all been removed at some point.

It left Azula free to focus on the helpless, petrified statue that had once been Katara of the Southern Water Tribe.

Azula could move.

Azula could speak.

Azula could grope her, run her hands all over her body, could spank her exposed behind and breasts.

Could lift her skirt, could strike against her inner thoughts, the exposed edges of her lower lips that were just as full, drawn just as tight around an intruder as her mouth.

Could pinch and twist at her stone nipples.

Could slap her face.

Could push her forwards and backwards, causing Katara’s form to rock back and forth painfully, maddeningly on the pole that was buried into her.

Could keep eating those damnable cherries.

Could bend down and look her in the eyes, knowing full well that Katara could not look away. Could not protest. Could not even make a sound.

“You were right about one thing, you know. I _do_ enjoy the sight of a helpless little thing like you. I know exactly what makes men and women in this world tick. And I’m looking forward to making you squirm in there. To lose yourself in spite of yourself to a pleasure I’m sure you don’t want.”

Another pause. Azula looked almost contemplative. “I wonder if you even _can_ orgasm?” The word was surprisingly crass coming from the former princess. Azula waved the Dai Li away, and for a few seconds, Katara could hear their retreating footsteps before they vanished from her senses.

It left only Azula, now altogether too close. Whispering softly, seductively into her ear.

“Let’s find out. You’ll tell me later, won’t you?”

And trapped in the prison of her own body, the isolation of her own mind, displayed like some sport trophy, transformed into an ornamental piece of _furniture_ , dressed like the most wanton whore imaginable–

Katara tried to scream, mentally preparing her muscles to give voice to her despair, her humiliation, her hopelessness, her fear, to split the silence of the room with the force of her bottled-up emotions.

“...”

“...”

“...”

But of course, tables could not speak.

Could not move.

Could not resist.

Why would it be otherwise?


End file.
